


Waking Up

by Skullszeyes



Series: Touch Of Salvation [4]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Dubcon Kissing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Neck Kissing, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Sequel, Sleep Groping, Sleepiness, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 02:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19039288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullszeyes/pseuds/Skullszeyes
Summary: Fushimi wonders about his and Yata's relationship.





	Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to anyone who enjoys this series. Exploring their relationship and how they feel about each other, and mostly what they're trying to hide from one another. :D 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciated.

Fushimi furrowed his brows at a distinct noise going off in the room. He groaned, forcing open his eyes and blinking at the ceiling with a slit of light coming through the curtains. He let out a sigh, reaching for his phone on the bedside table and squinting at the alarm. He had about fifteen minutes to get ready and leave. Setting his phone back on the table, he rubbed his eyes, and moved his leg only to go still when he felt someone else lying in the bed with him.

He dropped his hands to the side and turned his head. Misaki was still lying in the bed with him, barely covered with the blankets, and sleeping away from Fushimi. 

“Why...are you here?” Fushimi whispered, pushing himself up and pulling at the blankets that slipped from Misaki’s loose grip. The light spilled upon Misaki’s smooth neck riddled with faint red lines where he had scratched them. He slept soundly, completely undisturbed by what had happened last night. 

Fushimi didn’t even get a coherent reason why Misaki was there. He was simply thrilled that Misaki was in his bed, and he was there on his own without being pressured. 

Misaki, with his teeth bared in defiance, a match dropped and setting an entire room on fire, and if he could, and had the sense too, he’d also burn the city with him. Fushimi knew Misaki, he cared too much even if he tried not too, he wouldn’t burn anyone unless he was provoked too. He may be clenched fists and biting words, but he was still soft underneath, as much as the rising sun that looked more violent in the summer sky.

Fushimi pulled at the blanket and Misaki rolled slightly on his back, his head still turned, revealing the marks where Fushimi had bit and hoped to never fade. There was Misaki’s own scratch marks. He had dug as much as he could without fully tearing the skin, but he was close to breaking the layer.

He moved closer, inspecting the marks with the soft graze of his fingers. What was Misaki thinking when he did it? He smelled nice, he was clean, and his hair was wet when he arrived at his apartment last night. Meaning he had scratched himself after his shower.

Did he look in the mirror, and muttered  _ I miss you _ , and pressed his fingers to those fading marks, only to add his own to it. 

Fushimi smiled, pulling at the end of Misaki’s thin red tank-top, and it took a minute to take it off of Misaki’s body. He tossed it to the side, watching Misaki’s brows push together in annoyance as he tried to grasp for sleep. 

He trailed his fingers along Misaki’s bony collarbone, and was grateful that his HOMRA mark wasn’t staring at Fushimi when he leaned down and bit into Misaki’s skin, on top of the already fading marks and now red scratches that were healing from Misaki’s self-affliction. 

Between them both, they were violence. 

Misaki would burn him, and Fushimi would fall. 

Grateful in the friendship, in the love, in the worst parts of their hearts that were forcefully exposed. 

Fushimi tastes the scratches, the sweet warm skin as he sucks Misaki’s neck, darkening the marks, owning him over and over again as his teeth graze and pull. 

Misaki groans, his slender fingers find Fushimi’s shoulders, he breathes hard, trying to push Fushimi off of him, but he’s kept in place by cold hands. 

“Saru,” Misaki groans, his fingers find the back of Fushimi’s hair, and he yanks, which only elicits a moan from Fushimi who was contently marking Misaki’s neck, “I’m trying to sleep.”

He would fall with those burning wings on his back, he would fall as the wax stains his skin, and leaving heavy scars along naked shoulders and down the curve of his back. He would fall and fall, and happily drown.

Fushimi runs his fingers along Misaki’s naked torso, pulling a sleepy moan from Misaki who had kicked the blankets to the side in attempt to get Fushimi off of him. He touches him, running over smooth skin and muscle until his hands settle on Misaki’s hips where his jeans are. He pulls lightly, smiling into Misaki’s neck where he kissed along the blooming marks.

“I said,” Misaki says a little louder, glaring down at Fushimi, “I’m trying to sleep!” This time he manages to shove Fushimi off of him, and in that brief second, grasps for the blanket and wraps it around his body besides the bright red strands of his hair poking out from above. 

Fushimi rolls his eyes, staring at Misaki. There was a sense of accomplishment of what he had done, what he had tasted, of hearing Misaki’s soft moans and later his rising annoyance. He was still in his bed, trying to sleep with his blankets wrapped around him. And he wanted Misaki to stay. “I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

“I’m not, shut up!” Misaki murmured from inside the blankets.

It had been painful once, to know what he was in for when he looks at Misaki from far away. Unable to touch him, to feel him, to kiss him under the heat of passion and obsession. Both shouldn’t ever be able to connect to each other, not if one was ready for chaos. 

Maybe that’s the reason why Fushimi let it ruin him. He could bask in the hurt that Misaki could give him. In the insults and memories that Fushimi had set up in the mind when his thoughts would drift to him. 

No one could truly forget their past, and not when a friendship meant so much to them. Misaki had cared way too much, and because of that, it was easy for Fushimi to expose his heart, and rip it out. 

He didn’t mind the reminder of a bruise on his own heart, but Fushimi couldn’t hold onto what he had taken, and he had given it back in spite. Misaki, who once was innocent, and maybe considered still in the eyes of the opposite sex, but he was also cruel with words intent to burn. 

Fushimi leaned forward, lifting up the blanket and looking at Misaki’s naked torso, and his jeans hanging from his hips. He dropped the blanket, found his glasses and placed them on his nose before getting off the bed, rising and stretching, letting out a gratified yawn as he left the room. 

He was going to be late.

He ate breakfast, washed up, and reentered the room. Misaki hadn’t moved that entire time, and Fushimi could see that he was staring at his own phone. He changed his clothes, smoothed out the creases and picked up his phone from the bedside table.

“I won’t be back until later,” he said.

Misaki didn’t answer.

Fushimi clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, he could still feel Misaki’s mouth on his when he kissed him, it wasn’t distinctly what Fushimi would call passion, but he figured after awhile that Misaki wanted him to shut up until they fell asleep. 

“Are you going to be here?”

“Probably,” Misaki muttered.

Fushimi strapped on his saber, “It’s a yes or no answer.”

“Then no, I won’t be here later.”

Fushimi scowled, “When have you ever been so annoyed in the morning?” 

“Shut up, and go!” Misaki grumbled. 

There was a lot of things that were easy or tedious, but the most was when he was with Misaki. They mixed and formed, and he enjoyed that the most when he turned and headed for the bedroom door, stopping short as he placed a hand on the door frame. 

“What are going to say to them about what’s on your neck?” Fushimi chuckled and left the room when Misaki didn’t say anything. 

It was easy to know that Misaki liked what he did to him, and Fushimi would consider that an obsession, not one that was spoken out loud, but between them, it was Fushimi’s to hold in the palm of his hand.

At least he wasn’t the only one drowning.

**Author's Note:**

> I added a bit of Icarus and the sun mythology because I like this myth a lot. I'm referencing it to several of my fanfics, but most aren't as explicit! :D I'll reference others as well, but I'm not as fond to Greek Mythology that much!  
> I also like writing possessive behaviors, and Fushimi is easy to write with that since he is possessive of Yata in a fluctuated way that could be considered his own self-affliction, emotionally and psychologically anyway. 
> 
> I hoped you enjoyed.
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciated.


End file.
